unless, of course, you were me that had to dig the car out of the mud...but more of that just now...
As mentioned previously, we were off for a weekend of sun, single malt and slinging of fly lines.
Well, there was none of the first, plenty of the second, and it wasn't so much fly lines that were slung as it was mud.
The weather, although I got a little sunburned around the gills due to the occasional sun ray reflecting off the water, was bloody horrible. The rainfall in Dullstroom, this January, was double the rainfall for the whole of 2005!! And it reflects in the water table which is so high that walking on the garden sounds like you're walking in a marsh. On top of which, the trampoline hole at the house was so full of water that if you jumped on it, it was like (I imagine) the upward shower from a bidet.
But let me start from the beginning...
Friday afternoon, we arrived in Dullstroom at about 6pm, and sat down for a coffee at "The Flying Dutchman". "Flying Crotchman" would have been more approriate...damn place was full of poop-shooters, arse-bandits, bonty-bashers, or whatever else you want to call them. Needless to say we sat down for our coffee and left at our earliest convenience when Jackie phoned to say they'd arrived in town.
The house, owned by Jackie and Stan, is magnificent, I'm sure you'll agree by the photo. Probably around 30yrs old, plenty of character to it and a place we'll definately be going back to.
Friday night, we all went round to some other friends who were staying at Millstream, a fly fishing resort (I mentioned in previous posts too). Lots of good red wine and single malts later and we headed off for the house, sated. A couple more newly-found single malts and it was bedtime around 01h00. A good evening, to be sure...
Saturday morning, the alarm screamed at 06h30 and I was ready to get up to go fishing. Steph told me to reset it for 07h00 and I thought it was a better idea than getting up. The extra half hour would do me good. It felt like five minutes...
07h10 and I'm showered, cup of coffee in hand, sitting staring out over the large, soggy, garden waiting for Stan to surface so that we can go back to Millstream for some anticipated fishing. Huh...he eventually staggers through at around 09h00 and by the time he's finished faffing around, we eventually get in the car at about 10h00.
A couple of hours later, we'd caught absolutely bugger all, except as we found out later, sunburn to our faces and arms, and around 13h00 we joined the rest of them at a little restaurant called "Fibs" (name comes from the - supposed - lies fishermen tell about the size of the one that got away). A couple of beers later and we're off back to Millstream and it's only Stan that gets a trout. I have a couple of chases, but nothing more than that. The scenery around there is simply amazing...we saw two fish eagles, herons, some wild buck that run wild around the resort, and countless other creepies and crawlies.
Then the trouble started... At about 18h00, we decide to pack it in for the day and head back to the car to get rid of the waders and rods. On our way out of Millstream back to Dullstroom (about 6km in total), Stan brings out my little aluminium water bottle which was filled with...Johnny Walker red label. So we start swigging straight out of the bottle, and by the time we get back to town there's about nothing left in it, and we decide to stop in at the Dullstroom Inn for another quick one. On the way out, Stan tells me which road not to go due to the deep mud, but I think "Ahfuckit" and promptly head off in that direction.
The first deep puddle is no problem, engage Difflock and through we go. The second, however, was another story altogether. As we're going through, I feel the wheels dig in up to the axles and my sphincter contracts, right about the time the car comes to a wheel-spinning halt. No way back, no way forward, we're like a big white hippo in the middle of its mudpool.
Two hours later, with much rocking of car and digging with shovels, with four black guys and Stan up to their elbows and knees in stinking brown mud, I call out to them to leave it until morning. I was the only clean one among them, having watched from the clean safety of the drivers window...after all, someone had to sit in the car and dig the wheels in further, why not me??
So we head back to the house, to the amusement of the ladies who by this time had been sitting watching from the porch, wine glasses in hands, so that we could get cleaned up and ready for dinner. A fine dinner it was too, followed by loads more red wine and 12yr old single malt scotch. Another late night...
A glorious morning on Sunday and at 07h00 I'm up and out the door, shovel in hand, hoping the water had drained sufficiently to allow me to drive the car out of its watery parking spot. Not bloody likely... Unbeknown to me, there had been more rain during the night followed by more water run-off into the mudpool. After about an hour and a half, I told Lewis (gardner, house-boy and all-round gopher) that I'd had enough and we'd call a tow truck. As it turns out, we didn't have to as we were able to call the owner of one of the local restaurants (who just about pissed himself laughing when we told him of our predicament, saying that it was common for this time of year), who came around with his big Toyota Land Cruiser and, at the second attempt, managed to drag the Ford out of the hole. Nice guy though...didn't want anything for coming around, except for us to go to his restaurant sometime for breakfast. Stan says the food is shite though, so maybe we'll go around sometime just to repay the debt.
Anyway, I expected the worst under the car, thinking I would have to have the propshaft serviced and could see the greenbacks flying out my wallet. As it was, it had already cost me two hundred bucks in donations to the black guys who tried to dig the car out. But I was pleasantly surprised. The car had only gone deep enough for there to be about three inches of mud up the diff, and the entire chassis, including the propshaft and exhaust, were in showroom condition. Only the wheels were covered in quick-set brown cement, and the body had a few handprints over it where the guys had been pushing on it.
By this time, we were ready to pack all our belongings into the cars, and head to a little coffee shop for lunch. And a reasonably fine meal it was too...but with none of the beer and single malts, as I had a three hour drive back home ahead of me.
We arrived back home around 18h00, myself a little tired from the overindulgences of the nights before but more relaxed than I have been in some time. Definately worth the trip, sunburn, hangovers, and the embarassment of burying the car...that Johnny Walker's a bastard...
Hope you guys also had an eventful weekend...
The weather, although I got a little sunburned around the gills due to the occasional sun ray reflecting off the water, was bloody horrible. The rainfall in Dullstroom, this January, was double the rainfall for the whole of 2005!! And it reflects in the water table which is so high that walking on the garden sounds like you're walking in a marsh. On top of which, the trampoline hole at the house was so full of water that if you jumped on it, it was like (I imagine) the upward shower from a bidet.
But let me start from the beginning...
Friday afternoon, we arrived in Dullstroom at about 6pm, and sat down for a coffee at "The Flying Dutchman". "Flying Crotchman" would have been more approriate...damn place was full of poop-shooters, arse-bandits, bonty-bashers, or whatever else you want to call them. Needless to say we sat down for our coffee and left at our earliest convenience when Jackie phoned to say they'd arrived in town.
The house, owned by Jackie and Stan, is magnificent, I'm sure you'll agree by the photo. Probably around 30yrs old, plenty of character to it and a place we'll definately be going back to.
Friday night, we all went round to some other friends who were staying at Millstream, a fly fishing resort (I mentioned in previous posts too). Lots of good red wine and single malts later and we headed off for the house, sated. A couple more newly-found single malts and it was bedtime around 01h00. A good evening, to be sure...
Saturday morning, the alarm screamed at 06h30 and I was ready to get up to go fishing. Steph told me to reset it for 07h00 and I thought it was a better idea than getting up. The extra half hour would do me good. It felt like five minutes...
07h10 and I'm showered, cup of coffee in hand, sitting staring out over the large, soggy, garden waiting for Stan to surface so that we can go back to Millstream for some anticipated fishing. Huh...he eventually staggers through at around 09h00 and by the time he's finished faffing around, we eventually get in the car at about 10h00.
A couple of hours later, we'd caught absolutely bugger all, except as we found out later, sunburn to our faces and arms, and around 13h00 we joined the rest of them at a little restaurant called "Fibs" (name comes from the - supposed - lies fishermen tell about the size of the one that got away). A couple of beers later and we're off back to Millstream and it's only Stan that gets a trout. I have a couple of chases, but nothing more than that. The scenery around there is simply amazing...we saw two fish eagles, herons, some wild buck that run wild around the resort, and countless other creepies and crawlies.
Then the trouble started... At about 18h00, we decide to pack it in for the day and head back to the car to get rid of the waders and rods. On our way out of Millstream back to Dullstroom (about 6km in total), Stan brings out my little aluminium water bottle which was filled with...Johnny Walker red label. So we start swigging straight out of the bottle, and by the time we get back to town there's about nothing left in it, and we decide to stop in at the Dullstroom Inn for another quick one. On the way out, Stan tells me which road not to go due to the deep mud, but I think "Ahfuckit" and promptly head off in that direction.
The first deep puddle is no problem, engage Difflock and through we go. The second, however, was another story altogether. As we're going through, I feel the wheels dig in up to the axles and my sphincter contracts, right about the time the car comes to a wheel-spinning halt. No way back, no way forward, we're like a big white hippo in the middle of its mudpool.
Two hours later, with much rocking of car and digging with shovels, with four black guys and Stan up to their elbows and knees in stinking brown mud, I call out to them to leave it until morning. I was the only clean one among them, having watched from the clean safety of the drivers window...after all, someone had to sit in the car and dig the wheels in further, why not me??
So we head back to the house, to the amusement of the ladies who by this time had been sitting watching from the porch, wine glasses in hands, so that we could get cleaned up and ready for dinner. A fine dinner it was too, followed by loads more red wine and 12yr old single malt scotch. Another late night...
A glorious morning on Sunday and at 07h00 I'm up and out the door, shovel in hand, hoping the water had drained sufficiently to allow me to drive the car out of its watery parking spot. Not bloody likely... Unbeknown to me, there had been more rain during the night followed by more water run-off into the mudpool. After about an hour and a half, I told Lewis (gardner, house-boy and all-round gopher) that I'd had enough and we'd call a tow truck. As it turns out, we didn't have to as we were able to call the owner of one of the local restaurants (who just about pissed himself laughing when we told him of our predicament, saying that it was common for this time of year), who came around with his big Toyota Land Cruiser and, at the second attempt, managed to drag the Ford out of the hole. Nice guy though...didn't want anything for coming around, except for us to go to his restaurant sometime for breakfast. Stan says the food is shite though, so maybe we'll go around sometime just to repay the debt.
Anyway, I expected the worst under the car, thinking I would have to have the propshaft serviced and could see the greenbacks flying out my wallet. As it was, it had already cost me two hundred bucks in donations to the black guys who tried to dig the car out. But I was pleasantly surprised. The car had only gone deep enough for there to be about three inches of mud up the diff, and the entire chassis, including the propshaft and exhaust, were in showroom condition. Only the wheels were covered in quick-set brown cement, and the body had a few handprints over it where the guys had been pushing on it.
By this time, we were ready to pack all our belongings into the cars, and head to a little coffee shop for lunch. And a reasonably fine meal it was too...but with none of the beer and single malts, as I had a three hour drive back home ahead of me.
We arrived back home around 18h00, myself a little tired from the overindulgences of the nights before but more relaxed than I have been in some time. Definately worth the trip, sunburn, hangovers, and the embarassment of burying the car...that Johnny Walker's a bastard...
Hope you guys also had an eventful weekend...
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